I’ve been with my girlfriend a while. We’ve done the close-range obsession thing, the long distance thing, and now the living together thing. I love her to pieces not because of the cool, sophisticated business woman thing, but mostly because of the adorable, messy, crazy thing she does. All that said, she’s a prim and proper little thing, my lady. And where I’m comfortable in jeans and a t-shirt, my lady prefers high-heels and high-style. There’s no such thing as over-dressed, over-prepared, or over-done in the world of this woman–but hey, that’s her thing.
So here’s the story. On our second morning cohabitating, I woke up to a shrill screech from the woman I love. I checked the clock: 6:00 am. We didn’t oversleep, our door is not ajar, and the windows are still shut. What could be wrong? Still a bit groggy, I blinked and sat up as my darling girlfriend fled from the room. “Babe? Everything alright?”
She returned a moment later looking disheveled and upset, carrying a large bath-towel. “I peed.” She mumbled.
“Huh?” I replied. I glanced down at her side of the bed to see a giant wet-stain on our bright white sheets.
“I peed the bed.” She said in a voice far younger than she. “I had a dream I was peeing, and I woke up in the middle of it…peeing. I’m so sorry.”
I waited a minute to see if my high school gym teacher was going to pop out of the closet screaming at me to run laps, or if my mother was going to be on TV cooking a pot-roast or if there were any other obvious signs I could be dreaming. None. So I rubbed my eyes and sat up a little straighter. I glanced down at the puddle again and then at the clock: 6:02. “Give me the towel.” I said, yawning. She did so while covering her eyes. I laid the towel over the puddle and held out my hand. “Come here. Lay down. Go back to sleep. Sleep will help. Sleep helps everything.” When she got back into bed, I pulled her close to me and kissed her neck softly. Then I made sweet love to my lady because I needed her to know I still found her sexy, no amount of bedwetting could do that…well, at least not this 4 cup wonder on her side of the mattress.
When 8am rolled around, we got up, stripped the bed and dropped off our laundry on the way to work. No harm, no foul, no worries.
Still, when I returned home that evening, my lady was wallowing in a new puddle–one of shame. She was still too embarrassed to look at me, and found reasons to keep moving from room to room the moment she got in the door until I finally got in her way. “Baby, what’s wrong?” I asked, standing in the doorway to her study. “You still upset about this morning?”
“I’m just so embarrassed.” She said, hanging her head. “That’s never happened to me. I’m so sorry.”
“Honey, please. It’s no big deal. These things happen.” I took her hands in mine and tried not to smile.
Finally, she looked me in the eye. “No, they really don’t.”
Breaking into a giggle, I relented. “No, I guess they really don’t.” She covered her face again and laughed as I pulled her into a hug. “Don’t worry hotstuff…It happens to the best of us.”
“No! No it doesn’t!” She yelled, laughing harder.
”Come on,” I said. “Would it make you feel better if I wet my pants?”
”Yeah, actually.” She picked her head up and smiled at me.
“Ok,” I said shrugging my shoulders. And then I did.
We laughed for a good ten minutes straight as I wandered around our new apartment, soiled from the waist down.
And that, dear butches, is the most spontaneous thing, the most uncomfortable thing, but ultimately, the most romantic thing I have ever done.
